The Shiny Spoon
by Ducttape666
Summary: A belligerent Orc Shaman sets off on an adventurous quest to recover his favourite spoon.
1. Chapter 1

The foul smell pervaded every hut in the crudely erected Orc camp. It was the smell of all kinds of bodily fluids mixed with dead fish and sour milk, as well as other, less recognisable odours.

Not that this smell bothered the Orcs, who were used to far worse and didn't even notice it anymore. Their human captives were not so fortunate, and those who had been knocked unconscious before being thrown in a makeshift cage were quickly envied by those who still had their senses.

Some of the Greenskins were laughing at the beaten wretches, placing bets on which of the cramped up 'umies would throw up on the rest, as the cage was not quite large enough to provide its load with any semblance of personal space.

Other Orcs were focusing on more pressing matters, such as boasting about having beaten enemies to death with their own severed limbs and then picking a fight with anyone who looked doubtful about their stories, or anyone who didn´t.

Meanwhile, in the centre of the camp, an Orc Shaman called Wazmaash was adding some dead fish to the stew of sour milk and all kinds of bodily fluids in his huge metal cauldron.

His tent was larger than those of the other Orcs, and filled with a large variety of strange items, obsidian talismans, staffs carved out of oak and sceptres wrought out of solid gold, and also the skeletal remains and rotting carcasses of all kinds of beings and creatures, from wild boar to delicate Elf to a wild boars' massive head sewn unto a delicate Elf body, more for a laugh than any arcane purpose.

The evil smelling soup was nearly ready, and Wazmaash began to taste some of the brew. Since someone had nicked his spoon, he had to slurp it directly out of the cauldron like a horse drinks from a trough.

The gnarly old wizard had already tasked some Goblins with retrieving his fancy spoon. He would have liked to start looking around himself as well, but this potion had to be finished before nightfall, since the Orcs couldn´t wait to stomp more foes for much longer.

The loss of his favourite drinking attribute bothered Wazmaash though. It was all shiny from being inlaid with precious stones, and even in the dead of night it would glow intensely.

It was clear that the thief had to be a Gobbo. Not that Orcs never stole stuff, but they tended to take heavy things, things that could be used to smash someone´s face to a pulp. As Wazmaash had learned by trial and error, the spoon was not heavy enough for this task, although it was very sturdy, never breaking or even bending on impact with a skull.

It was his favourite spoon, and he wanted it back.

Several miles away from the smelly encampment, several spiders, as large as grown men, were scuttling their way through the dense growth of the Drakwald Forest. Riding them were twitchy, nervous looking Goblins, constantly looking around for any sign of danger, whether it was the monstrous inhabitants of these woods or any pursuers from the army they just deserted.

Every one of the paranoid little Greenskins was carrying a bag of stolen goods on his back. Most of it was looted from the human army they had just defeated (although in truth, these particular Goblins had only defeated those enemies who were already running away from the Orcish onslaught), and consisted of scraps of armour, blunted blades, hastily repaired helmets, and several precious pouches of gunpowder, which would fetch a good price with their Goblin mates to whom they were now travelling.

Each of the deserters was also carrying several body parts, a variety of pink and green ones, as a light snack for underway and to sate the hunger of their arachnid mounts, whose loyalty depended entirely on regular feeding, not unlike the Goblins themselves.

Unknown to his companions, Zibgat, a one-eared Goblin who´d got half his face maimed by a stampeding boar and somehow survived, had also liberated a number of items from their notoriously grumpy Shaman´s tent. This was generally considered bad luck even among mischievous Goblinoids, since not only did a Shaman sometimes remember what possessions he had, and thus notice if they were missing, he was also in touch with Gork and Mork, the great green Gods worshipped by Orcs and Goblins throughout the Old World.

Zibgat knew it was risky to displease the Gods, and that he shouldn´t have messed with powers greater than the ire of his Orcish masters, but his greed had got the better of him.

He was only going to steal from the regular Orcs like the others had, but then he noticed Wazmaash´s tent flap was open and he wasn´t there, nobody was there, nobody but Zibgat and a treasure trove just waiting for his eager, grasping fingers...

Even in this moment of happiness though, Zibgat was too scared to take any of the obvious stuff. He looked around in a great wooden chest, the lock of which was so rusted it would be rendered useless even if Wazmaash hadn't lost the key, and grabbed several amulets from the bottom, so it wouldn´t be obvious they were missing. He also collected almost half the coins that were lying around the place, gold and silver and copper ones, and some made out of a substance unknown to the little sneak, but he took a few of them anyway, knowing that it was unlikely Wazmaash would notice as long as there were still some of them scattered about.

When he turned the corner of one the great poles holding the tent up, to look for any other easy targets, Zibgat was scared witless by the shape of a menacing boar head balancing precariously on a flimsy thin body. After a few seconds of sheer fright and expectations of becoming this mutant´s lunch, it became clear to the twitchy interloper that both head and body of this strange figure were long dead, and it wasn´t going to eat him either.

Calming himself down, Zibgat then noticed something else, something shiny sticking out of the enormous cauldron which stood in the middle of the tent...


	2. Chapter 2

''Well?'', the bad-tempered old wizard asked his nervous underlings, staring at them intently with his one good eye.

One of the five Goblins tasked with retrieving Wazmaash´s spoon swallowed, stepped forward, looked everywhere but in the Shaman´s face and squealed, ´´They´s ran off, Boss. A bunch of ´em, they´z took a whole buncha loot and rode away on their spiders, when da boyz was still finishing off da last of da humies.´´

Wazmaash raised his heavy staff and brought it down on the Goblin's head, faster than might be expected from an old wizard. There was a sickening crunching sound, and part of the brain started pouring out of the cracked skull, a purplish slimy goo that would make a fine addition to the battle brew that Wazmaash was still cooking up.

He looked at the others and grunted, ''Anyfing you lot wanna tell me sumfing I couldn't 'ave guessed meself? Fer example, _where_ da stinkin' gits took off?''

Wide eyed and terrified, the little Greenskins started babbling incoherently and frantically pointed in different directions, desperate to avoid their fallen friends' fate but ironically increasing the chance of joining him in the dirt.

Wazmaash smacked one of them in the face again, using his hand instead of his club-like staff this time. The little blighters all shut up immediately, and after a brief silence, the tallest of them spilled the beans. He told Wazmaash of the Goblin trading caravan not far to the west, a day´s riding at the most. To avoid the Imperial scouting parties and outposts they would have to go through the woods, which carried its own risks. The group of deserters was quite large, however, and the chance they´d make it was fairly big.

Wazmaash suspected the reason they hadn´t told him immediately was because they frequented this caravan themselves. They kept this a secret to the Orcs who just might decide to attack this source of income if there were no other foes nearby.

In fact, this was just what Wazmaash intended. Smash da sneaky gits, set an example, and take back me spoon, he thought to himself. Simple.

He then remembered the human army, only a few miles away, for which he had been brewing his secret recipe and which would have to get stomped first. By the time they´d be done, though, the trading caravan would have moved on, probably as far away as possible from the Orcs whose stolen goods they carried.

Howling in frustration, Wazmaash slapped another Goblin and told the others to zog off. Immediately, they scattered in all directions, leaving Wazmaash with his thoughts.

He´d have to talk to the Boss.

The defecting Goblins were aware of some ominous presence around them, the presence of nameless and perhaps even shapeless beings whose habitat they unknowingly entered.

Their developed sense of self preservation made them jump at every movement among the withered trees and bushes, and twitch at every optical trick of those rare lightrays that managed to break through the dense canopy that covered most of the forest in a depressing gloom.

None of the little Greenskins could shake the feeling of being watched, and without realizing it they had all spurred their arachnid mounts to a greater speed, even though this would tire them out faster and ultimately only slow their journey.

They were right to be afraid, but wrong about being watched.

Milky, unseeing eyes did stare in their direction, but the real danger came from the ambushers' astute sense of smell. Not that it required a fine nose to be aware of a gang of unwashed Goblins, giant spiders and a plethora of loot and body parts, but the slits between their blind eyes that functioned as noses did tell the lurking monsters how many of them there were... and although they were hardly Imperial mathematicians, the number they smelled was clearly not big enough to pose a threat. Even better, their prey already smelled of sweet, sweet fear.

Zibgat, who was guarding the rear of the group (a favourite synonym for hiding behind others among Goblins) nervously scratched the hole were once his pointy ear had been, constantly scanning his verdant surroundings. The precious spoon, a token of his greed and incredibly lucky opportunity, hang around his neck on a belt that was once used to fasten a knights' armour. Although he was still elated to have stolen such a prize, at the same time he also cursed himself for his stupidity. He had been so careful to take only those things the grumpy Shaman was unlikely to miss, but this treasure... He knew he might be pursued for this. He'd have to sell it to some dim-witted merchant at the caravan. A shame, he liked to have shiny stuff on his person, but it wasn't worth the risk. Wazmaash was known for being persistent, and also for caving Goblin skulls in with his staff.

To Zibgats right, a branch snapped, which pulled him out of his thoughts.

His eyes grew in terror as he suddenly saw something clawing its way through the dense growth, and they bulged when he heard the low growling of some animal unknown to him, and nearly popped out of his head when the ravenous, pale monstrosity suddenly emerged.

It threw itself on the Goblin in front of Zibgat, biting him cleanly in half with its oversized jaws while ripping a leg from his spider mount, before it gulped that down too and immediately helped itself to the rest of the writhing arachnid.

Zibgat decided he'd seen enough and speeded past the hulking creature while it still focused on his current meal. To his horror two more ravenous beasts were chewing their way through the scattering group, leaving little evidence of their existence except for puddles of slime and blood. They even ate all the spoils of war that had led the Goblins to their current, unfortunate situation.

Uncertain which way to flee, the choice was suddenly taken from his greedy grasping hand as Zibgat felt his spider pulled out from under him. He tumbled on the leaves and tried to crawl to safety or at least concealment, but the drips of drool that landed on his head told him one of the creatures was hovering over him, a second before he felt a powerful grip around his waist and razor sharp teeth enveloping his limbs, before he was consumed entirely, hands, feet, spoon and all.


End file.
